


Diner

by twistedrunes



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 18:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16877724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/pseuds/twistedrunes
Summary: You own a diner in New York, Luca Changretta is a regular. This fic is based on the following prompts:16.  “Why are you crying?”21.  “Who hurt you?”It’s set before Luca goes to England but after the death of his father.





	Diner

"Joe’s here Lil, I’m off,” Louisa calls from the front of the diner flicking the open light off.

“Night Lou, can you lock the door behind you?” You call back through the kitchen hatch.

“Mr Changretta’s here.” Louisa sing-songs back. “You sure you want me to lock up?” She teases.

You push open the kitchen door wiping your hands on a tea-towel, you roll your eyes. “It's fine, I’ll get it. Have a good night.” 

“Night, night sweets, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lou says pushing the door open and waving as she stepped through it.

“There’s nothing you wouldn’t do!” You yell after her. Lou nods enthusiastically and grins. Blowing you a kiss through the glass before skipping off to her boyfriend’s car.  

You notice Mr Changretta talking to the driver of his car in the carpark. Watching him you flick the coffee machine back on, grinding the beans and tamping them down. You set the espresso on the counter as he enters the diner. You pop back into the kitchen.

“Evening doll.” He says reaching the counter “Not keeping you am I?”

You smirk knowing he can’t see you. He asks this nearly every time he comes in, and he rarely arrives before closing. “No, I still have things in the oven. Can I get you anything else, biscotto, torta, pane?” You ask as you sneeze, feeling your eyes start to itch. You groan inwardly. Allergies again.

“No, I’m here to take you dancing.” He says smoothly.

“Oh silly me, Friday already, and I forgot my good dress.” You laugh, Luca had been trying to get you to go on a date with him for a while. He hadn’t actually asked though. You rub at your eyes, now watering freely, pick up the pie for tomorrow’s special and bump the kitchen door open with your butt, entering the diner backwards, turning to put the pie in the cabinet your eyes meet with Luca’s briefly.

**“Why are you crying?”**  He demands, "I'm was only joking about the dancing." 

You look up at him again, blinking “I’m not crying, it’s just allergies.” You explain. Smiling warmly to assure him you’re okay. Your eyes flick to the flash of purple on the counter in front of him. You nearly laugh. “I’m allergic to lilacs.”

Luca snatches up the bouquet and walks back to the door “You’re allergic to the flowers you’re named after?” He asks incredulously as he pulls the door open and throws them outside.

“Yeah, ain’t irony grand?” You say grabbing a napkin and blotting your eyes and trying to discretely blow your nose.

Luca returns to the counter “So are you allergic to all flowers or just lilacs?” He asks watching you closely.

“Most.” You shrug.

“I wasn’t really joking about the dancing.” He says, taking another sip.

“So you thought you could win me over with flowers?” You ask

“Usually works,” Luca says with chagrin.

You smile “Well I’m not usual am I.” You tease. “You want some Lasagne?” You offer with a small smile. “Should be ready in a few minutes. Give you some time to plan you’re next move.”

Luca watches you, a smile creasing his face as he shakes his head at your gentle rebuff. The fact that you were the only woman in the neighbourhood who wouldn’t fall to her knees at a mere nod of his head making you intoxicating to him. “Bella! Your lasagne is the best in the country.” He says with a warm and easy smile, rolling the toothpick which habitually occupies his mouth from one side to the other.

You laugh “You only say that because mamma Changretta lives in England.” You stir as you leave the counter and going back into the kitchen. Returning a few minutes later with a steaming slice of lasagne a simple side salad, dressed with olive oil and balsamic vinegar and two glasses of grappa.

Luca’s empty espresso cup has been set aside, toothpick discarded on the saucer. He takes a mouthful of the lasagne chewing slowly. As he swallows his tongue glides over his lips. He smiles at you and lifts his glass “If you ever tell another living soul I will deny it but your lasagne is better than mamma’s.”

You gasp theatrically and clutch at your chest. “No!”

Luca laughs “Absolutely.” He takes another mouthful repeating the performance. “This is why you need to come dancing with me.”

“So you can get me drunk and get my secret recipe for your mamma?” You continue teasing.

“No so my children can say their mother makes the best lasagne in the world.” He says holding your gaze evenly.

“Smooth.” You laugh, picking up his cup and saucer and heading back to the kitchen. “Maybe next time you should ask before Friday night. A girl needs to plan these things you know.” You say over your shoulder.

\-------------------------------------

You drum your fingers on the counter, reminding yourself that Luca was not late, you had just been ready ridiculously early. You sigh with relief as headlights of a car turning into the carpark light up the diner. Quickly you head back into the kitchen, turning on the water for the pasta and checking the sauce. Pouring two glasses of wine. You check yourself in your compact one final time, before backing through the kitchen door, wine glasses in one hand and plate of anti-pasta in the other. All of which crash to the floor when you turn and are faced with the wrong end of a shotgun.

“You owe Mr Rossi six hundred dollars.” A voice somewhere beyond the barrel says gruffly.

“What for?” You ask, surprised to hear the words come from your mouth as you felt you were completely frozen.

“Protection.” The man says.

“But, I don’t pay protection.” You reply dumbly your mouth still very happy to keep working despite your brains desperate cries for it to stop.

Your brain is correct. A man’s fist makes contact with your jaw, you stumble backwards landing in the broken glass and crockery. You cry out in shock. You notice a man emptying the till.

“Six hundred dollars.” A voice says you have no idea if it’s the same or a different one. “Have it next Friday or you’ll get more than a fat lip.”

And then they are gone. Unable to move you stay on the floor behind the counter. You watch the blood pool in the palm of your hand.

“Doll? We having dinner first?” Luca asks happily.

You try to answer but only a sob comes from your mouth.

Luca looks over the counter seeing you seated on the floor, blood smeared around you and your face swelling and eye darkening he shouts loudly, waving to gain the attention of the person waiting in the car before rushing around to you.  He’s on his knees in front of you in an instant, grabbing a clean tea-towel from the pile under the counter and wrapping it tightly around your hand. “What happened?  **Who hurt you?** ” He demands.

You look up at him tears on your cheeks and chin wobbling “They said I needed to pay protection to Rossi, six hundred dollars.” You sob.

“Cunts.” Luca spat.

You couldn’t keep up with the conversation he had with his man, your Italian too rusty. Luca turned his attention back to you helping you to your feet. “Come on,” he said quietly “Let’s get out of here. Matteo will lock up for you.”

“Tell him there’s bread in the oven.” You say, your brain desperate to hang onto some semblance of normalcy.

Luca takes you to the car, helping you in carefully. He takes you to his home. It’s beautiful you notice despite your daze. You sit in the lounge in front of the fire a blanket wrapped around your shoulders shivering slightly while Luca uses the phone. Again you can’t follow the conversation. A doctor comes and stitches your hand. He gives you a shot.

\-----------------------------------------

The throbbing in your hand wakes you, quickly realising you are not in your own bed. The events of the previous evening hit you like a freight train. You open your eyes seeing a middle-aged woman standing at the foot of the bed. “It’s alright Miss.” She says gently. “You’re safe here. No one will hurt you. Mr Changretta has left strict instructions that you are to be well cared for. Can I get you anything? Coffee perhaps?”

You sit up in the bed confused, looking down at yourself you notice you’re wearing a nightgown. “That’s mine, Miss." The maid says, “Needed to clean your dress and Mr Changretta didn’t think it was proper for you to be in the house without proper attire. I changed you, Miss, I hope you don’t mind.” You nod.

\-----------------------------------------

Later that morning the maid takes you, dressed in your freshly laundered clothes, to the sitting room where Luca is waiting for you.

He sits next to you on the settee “How are you?” He asks kindly.

“Fine, just a bit numb really.” 

Luca hands you an envelope “Reimbursement of the money you lost.” He says, “From Mr Spinetti. Plus some extra for the inconvenience.” He explains.

“But I don’t pay protection to anyone.” You say still feeling dumb.

Luca’s hand rises and brushes along your jaw lightly. Hissing at the swelling and bruising blooming there.  “You don’t need to.” He says simply. “The men who came last night have been dealt with they won’t come back. Someone will come to watch the place too.”

“You?” You ask hopefully.

“No Bella,” he says smiling softly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “I have to go to England for a while, sort out some family business.”

“Oh,” you say suddenly feeling empty. “How long will you be gone for?”

Luca shrugs “A month, maybe two. Shouldn’t take long.”

You nod “Maybe we can go dancing when you get back.” You suggest.

“It’s a date.”


End file.
